


Tiger with a Y

by Anon (Walor)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dick is an asshole barista, M/M, Tiger is a tired professor, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Anon
Summary: Tiger just wants a damn coffee without the barista being a dick about it. Ironic, because that's the shitty barista's name.





	Tiger with a Y

**Author's Note:**

> This is a super old fic I wrote years ago and realized if I changed the names it would be an adorable Dick/Tiger fic so enjoy.

The first time Tiger sees him is in passing.

He has to do a double take. He’s been coming to the family owned coffee shop on the corner of the university's local block for the past two semesters and has gotten an idea of the type of people who worked there. He remembers the employees by their appearance rather than their names--Tiger barely knows half his students names--and knew that majority were old, liver-spotted seniors from the care center across the street and the other half were acne-ridden, greasy haired teens barely over 16. The man that comes out of the back room with boxes of coffee grounds isn’t either of those.

He’s young, but not young like half the teenage staff is. Twenties, dark hair with a clean shaven face except for the small nick on his chin. Tiger only catches the side of his face, hidden by the stack of boxes, but gets an absolute eyeful of a toned and exceptionally plump ass.

“Your name, sir?” The barista, a young girl with a mouthful of braces and rubber bands asks. Tiger snaps out of his daze and turns to the girl. Apologizes with a bright red blush on his cheeks and completes his order.

Tiger spends his normal two-hour break between classes there like normal. Every so often peaking over the edge of his laptop to see if he can catch a glimpse of the new barista. He only appears from the back room three times during the two-hour period, face still concealed by mountains of boxes.

Oh well, nothing more than a chance encounter that will at least make the rest of the day facing college freshman easier. He forgets about the barista ten minutes after he leaves.

\--

The universe, however, doesn't let him forget about them for long. The second time Tiger sees him it's a lot more personal.

The man, Tiger recognizes him by his shapely ass--can hardly blame him for noticing with how obscene his pants stretch around it--and styled hair, is working the register. When Tiger’s second in line he takes time to studied his face. Sharp angles around his jaw and nose, laugh lines already forming with the bright, white teethed smile stuck on his face. Pale blue eyes that shine with impish mischief, something Tiger's seen in certain class troublemakers like Todd and Harper.

“How can I help you?” His voice, when Tiger is in front of the line, is a smooth accented-drawl. Upper-Gotham, if Tiger had to guess, which probably means the son of a wealthy mogul who's finally been cut off from daddy's money. Tiger finds himself subconsciously frowning.

“A mocha,” Tiger glances down at his name tag. _Dick._ Ridiculous American nicknames.

“My favorite drink,” Dick smiles wider, if that’s even possible, and rings up the charge. “Name?”

“Tiger.”

“Badass,” Dick hands the card back. "Just a minute if you'll wait over there."

Aside from physical attractiveness there’s nothing about the new barista that holds his interest for long. Soon he’ll fade into the background along with the other employees, even with his admittedly gorgeous face and delightful bum and Tiger won’t bat an eye. He goes back to his table, gets out his computer and starts grading student papers. When his name is called a few minutes later he gets up and grabs the cup. Then he sees the name.

_Tyger._

\--

“Name?”

“Tiger, with an i.”

Dick pauses in counting out change to look up at him with a raised brow. “Oh?”

“You spelled my name wrong last time. It’s Tiger with an i.” There are things that bother Tiger more than a normal person. Having his name, first and last, spelled wrong is one of them. A childhood of white American children telling him his name, Tiger of Kandahar, is hard while saying their own were perfectly normal has made it a pet peeve on par with someone slamming into his car without leaving a note. It’s a stupid annoyance sure, but Tiger is too proud of his family and heritage for people to butcher it.

“My bad,” Dick smiles with a little laugh. “I’ve always been bad with names.”

“That’s alright,” Tiger sighs. At least Dick was willing to admit to his mistake. _Unlike certain Gothamites_.

Tiger thinks it’s all been resolved for next time. He’s had taught the same lesson to other baristas--when he went with his full name before just settling with Tiger--hey make adjustments and learn then move on. This one will be no different. At least that's what he thinks until he get’s his cup.

 _Tyger with an I_.

\--

“T-I-G-E-R”

“I don’t think we have any items on the menu with that spelling, sir,” Dick turns around to look up at the menu before glancing back to Tiger. “But if you tell me what’s in it we can certainly do our best to create it.”

 _Wiseass_. Tiger’s face falls into an emotionless deadpan. That sharp, attractive face is starting to look more irritating and less handsome by the second. “I spelled it out for you this time so you shouldn’t have any trouble writing it down. A mocha as usual.”

This time when Tiger get’s his drink it reads _T, I, J, E, R_.

\--

Tiger comes in ten minutes past his normal time. Hopes the time difference means another barista is the register. Hell, he'd take the janitor. Anyone, but Dick. Instead, however, the shop seems all but abandoned with the only prominent figures being an old man feeding a dirty pet pigeon at a back table and Dick, rearranging pastries in the front row.

Tiger considers turning around and walking out the same minute Dick looks up from the glass case as the entrance bell chimes. _Damn it._ Most certainly spotted, he resigns himself to his fate and steps inside.

Dick, the shit, already seems to know what Tiger’s march to the counter's all about. If the way he stretches out his hands and smiles that damned smirk is anything to go by.

“Morning, how can I help you, Tiger with an I?” Pronouncing the g perfectly.

Tiger stares at him, unimpressed boredom on his face. “Now you know the right letter?”

“Oh, did I write it wrong?” Dick says in obvious faux surprise. “They’re so similar, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you meant j as in g like gif as in jif. My bad, I’ll get it right this time.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tiger would like to avoid another brutalization of his name. “I’ll just have the sweet bread, thank you.”

“Ooooh, mixing it up?” Dick types in the total into the register while Tiger quickly scans his card before being prompted. “Chocolate and pumpkin, those your favorite tastes my young, spelling bee boy?”

Tiger scrunches his nose at the weird pet name. “I like most of the things here.”

“Mm,” Dick grins and wraps up the slice of pumpkin bread before he passes it to Tiger. Their fingers brush against each other for a fraction of a second. So inanely small but the touch races up his arm like a violent shock of static. Tiger can’t shake the feeling the motion was done on purpose. “Have a nice day.”

\--

The next time Tiger walks in the shop is packed with a line that takes him five minutes to get to the front. Tiger, originally annoyed at the lack of table and long line, smirks when he gets in front of Dick’s register. He’s too busy with orders to make conversation, only asking for his order and giving him the total. Tiger leans against the bathroom wall, smug with victory as he watches Dick rush around writing down names, getting breads and sweets behind the glass case for his mocha.

When he gets it, however, the confidence of his victory drains out of him faster than a deflating balloon.

 _Tony the Tiger_.

\--  
“Have I done something to offend you?”

The coffee shop is empty this early in the morning with only an old couple sitting near the front of the shop reading over the news together. Dick looks behind him from the machines, too busy starting their morning brews to have heard him come in. Dick lights up seeing him, like a kid finding a turtle on it’s back with a stick in their hand.

“What did you say?”

Tiger lets out a breath through his nose. “Have I done something to you? Now or in a past life that has angered you in any way? If so I am truly very sorry.”

Dick tilts his head, smirk still in place. “What do you mean by that?”

Tiger closes his eyes and counts to ten like his therapist told him before he opens them, glaring at Dick, but managing to successfully keep most of the rage out of his voice. “Obviously, I have done something to you if you continue to write my name wrong no matter what I say. I don’t know what I did, but I am sorry.”

“Hm,” Dick reaches up and rubs at his chin, eyebrows pulling together in deep thought. “Thank you for the apology but I don’t know what it’s for considering we don’t really know each other.”

There’s something off about the way Dick says the last part of his sentence. “Don’t really know each other,” is said lightly almost a bit sad? They don’t know each other right? Tiger doubts he could of forgotten a bigger shit head than Dick. Tiger doesn’t get to ask what he means because the other barista is calling his name for his drink and he’s going to be late for class if he doesn’t go.

This time the cup only has a smiley face.

\--  
It occurs to Tiger, after receiving several more cups that have the words, _softie_ , _sweet bread_ , and _tough guy,_ that he could just stop going to that particular coffee shop. He only started going to it because it was close to the campus without attracting the hordes of students nearby because of its hole in the wall status. Going into crowded coffee shops aren’t ideal but it would allow him to get away from Dick’s stupid face.

But he just can’t seem to. Tiger first thinks it’s because his too stuck in his routine to go to other shops. Or that he doesn’t want to deal with the crowds. It doesn’t really sink in that Tiger likes the attention until he catches Dick push a co-worker out of the way to get on register just because Tiger’s in line.

“Eager are we?” Tiger smiles when he sees Dick, flushing in embarrassment for tripping over his broom to get to the register when he spotted Tiger was at the front of the line. “I didn’t know you liked taking orders so much.”

Dick’s face darkens a much brighter red but he smiles despite it. “Yeah well, I love touching money.”

The response isn’t like his normal, witty quips and Tiger’s grin widens. “Don’t we all?”

Tiger can’t help but laugh when he gets his cup and turns it over to see the word _Sugar Daddy_ written on the back.

\--  
The day Dick’s gone Tiger realizes in grim disappointment he’s started to develop _feelings_. The barista that takes his order is someone he’s used to, before Dick seemed to become a permanent counter fixture at the shop, a stoic woman with a no-nonsense attitude. Tiger asks for his order, a small mocha and gets his cup with the fine words spelling his name in perfect spelling.

The frown that comes to his face is as unexpected as the drop in his stomach. He didn’t realize he started he looking forward to whatever odd name Dick had thought of that day. It catches him pathetically off-guard and he spends his two-hour break staring at the heap of student midterms he has yet to grade wondering  _what changed?_

When Dick returns the next day, nose stuffed full of toilet paper with gloves on as he takes Tiger’s one order and no one else’s Tiger pulls out his phone and calls in delivery from a nearby restaurant. Tiger gets his mocha, with the name _Tigger,_  before his order from the other shop arrives. He meets the driver outside, pays them the five dollars and walks back inside.

He knows Dick still has twenty more minutes before he gets his break but walks up to the counter and calls for him anyway.

“Something wrong, Mr. Spelling Bee?” Dick grins looking more than a little unwell, with dark purple bags under his eyes.

“Here,” Tiger holds out the container of food he ordered. “I know your break isn’t for another twenty minutes but your manager will understand I’m sure.”

Dick’s smile drops as he accepts the white, styrofoam cup. “What’s this?”

“Soup,” Tiger says, keeping his voice as level and disinterested as he can, taking a sip of his drink. “If you’re going to come unwell I doubt you have anyone taking care of you at home if they let you go out like this. Next time keep your illness at home. No one likes someone sick mixing their drinks”

The corner of Dick’s mouth twitches as he scoffs at the statement. “Anal about spelling and now mother-henning me? What did I do to you?”

“Refrain from using such language on the job,” Tiger deadpans. “I don’t know if your coworkers will like that you speak so crassly.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “At least I use words normal people use. Crass, refrain, how are you going to blend in with normal humans when you talk like that.”

Tiger doesn’t offer a response besides leaving. He watches Dick stare at him through the reflection on the glass door.

\--  
Winter break comes faster than his deadlines for final tests. Tiger wastes more time than he’d like to admit trapped inside the filthy, coffee stained booth of the shop working with jittery hands as he tries to finish grading on time. School is such a bitch.

Tiger spends his afternoons and late nights the two weeks before finals glued to the seat in the back booth, only getting up every so often to order another drink or pastry. His leg is constantly tapping.

“Homework?” Dick asks when he starts mopping by Tiger’s table for the fifth time that day.

“Finals,” Tiger doesn’t look up from the screen.

“Sucks,” Dick draws out the s and Tiger doesn’t have to look up to see the mockery of a pity smile on his lips. “How many classes?”

“7.”

“Are you fuc-“ Dick coughs then lowers his breath. “You fucking insane?”

“More like my past self had no regards for the mental well-being of my future well-being,” Tiger leans back in his seat to rub his temples. The headache that’s starting to pound behind his eyes is making it hard to focus in silence, let alone with Dick trying to make conversation. “Sorry, I’m kind of busy.”

“I can see that.”

“Did you want something?” Tiger glances up past him computer at Dick. He opens his mouth and closes it, hands tightening on the broom handle. He wets his lips, opens his mouth, hesitates and then says with an awkward, half-smile.

“Work hard.”

Dick turns around and returns to sweeping. Tiger narrows his eyes as he watches his back, curious at the weird unsaid words that Dick's left between them.

\--  
When the last day of finals week comes and goes Tiger's positive he’s had enough coffee to last a life time, but he heads to the shop because he he’s tired and he’s about to spend the whole night packing for his return trip to visit his parents in Afghanistan.

Dick is waiting, like always, polishing the counter even though the main floor is covered in mud and smiles when he sees Tiger walk in.

“Tests over?”

“Yes,” Tiger leans against the counter. “I’m not sure how I’m still alive.”

“Working for that winter vacation,” Dick smirks and grabs a cup without asking for Tiger’s order. “What are you, uh, doing by the way? For the vacation and all.”

Tiger brushes off the awkwardness to sigh in relief at the mention of two weeks of nothing to do but relaxation. “Visiting my family Kandahar before I come back for winter quarter. Not looking forward to the heat, but I'll take it over the rain.”

Dick’s smile drops only a fraction at the answer his voice however stays upbeat. “Nice, nice, seeing family and friends again is always cool.”

“What about you?”

“Uh,” Dick roots around in the drawer for a marker before he writes on the cup. “Probably work. I don't really get along with my dad that much, glad you do.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he's surprised that he actually means it.

"You know the drill, boy has disagreement with dad. Boy moves out and spurns dad's attempts at reconnection to be an asshole for a year or two. Boy eventually goes back to dad and they fight all over again."

Dick turns around to make his drink when Tiger, his mind suddenly revolting at the taste of another mocha after two weeks of millions of them starts. “Wait, wait.”

“Hm?” Dick turns around from the machine. “Yes?”

“I don’t want a mocha,” Tiger says. “I, um,” he looks up at the menu. Tiger reads over the names in a light voice, trying to remember what tastes good and what doesn’t as a replacement for his normal order. “I, well, want. . .uh,”

Dick smirks then, wide and full of teeth as he turns around to the machine and starts filling the cup.

Tiger frowns. “I said I didn’t want a mocha.”

“I know what you said,” Dick grins. “Relax, I got you, Tigru.”

Tiger rolls his eyes. “I didn’t even order a drink yet, how do you know what I want?”

“I’m telekinetic,” Dick grins over his shoulder. “I’m reading your mind right now and,” Dick mock gasps. “Tiger! I do not look like that without my apron on!”

Tiger stiffens in embarrassment; hurriedly looking over his shoulder to make sure the shop's still as empty as it was when he first entered it. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to say it if you weren’t such a pervert,” Dick turns around, bringing his hands down to cover his crotch in faux modesty. Tiger brings a hand up to his face, peeking out of his fingers.

“Stop that.”

Dick clicks his tongue and winks before he turns around and finishes making the drink. “What are you going to do without me?”

“Enjoy the peace and quiet,” there’s no bite in Tiger’s voice as he reaches forward to pull a stir stick from the container of them. Tiger feels his shoulders fall. He hadn’t really thought about it until now, but Tiger was used to beginning his day with Dick up until this point. The thought of going more than a few days without Dick’s stupid cup nicknames suddenly seemed a lot less exciting than before.

Whether Dick knows he doesn’t mean it Tiger isn’t sure, he turns around and sets the cup down with a smile that brightens up every part of his face except for his eyes. They’re dull and a lot less lively than when he walked in.

“I’ll miss that piss-poor attitude of yours that’s for sure.” 

“Well that makes two of us.” _I’ll miss you too, asshole_.

“Have a good vacay,” Dick says before looking up and past him at the door as it chimes with the sound of new customers.

“You too.”

Tiger waits until he’s out of the shop to take a sip before he almost spits out the drink.

It’s not bad, hell if anything it’s delicious but the flavor, the flavor is what stops him. It’s pumpkin, sweet but not too overdone with the nutmeg and cinnamon, nice and warm on his tongue against the cold winter air. But there’s also this subtle rich texture of chocolate, barely there but enough that Tiger can taste the two definite flavors of the drink. He looks back at the shop in surprise, remembering a conversation that felt like decades ago at the beginning of the semester. _Chocolate and pumpkin, those your favorite tastes my young, spelling bee boy_?

Tiger rolls his eyes with a light huff, a smile stretching across his chapped lips. He takes another sip before he looks to see what name Dick left for Tiger as a parting gift. Tiger nearly drops the cup when his slow mind comes to the conclusion that there’s no letters, but numbers there.

Tiger takes a minute longer for his worn out brain to realize that those are probably not just any numbers.

Tiger waits until that night when he’s exhausted and worn out from packing all his travel bags to pull out his phone. It takes him another hour to type in the number and send a nervous text.

_It was good._

Not even a minute later Tiger’s phone lights up in response.

_I new u’d like it ☺._

The corner of Tiger’s lip turns up in a tired smile.

_I doubt you knew it, and while we’re at it please stop typing in that atrocious text talk. I can barely understand you._

_There’s the Tyger I know._


End file.
